


won't be known as man of the century

by damerons (noblydonedonnanoble)



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, slight AU where Llewyn finds his papers and is able to ship out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/damerons
Summary: Llewyn had been off the rig for less than two hours when he learned that the last song he’d recorded with Jim had become a hit.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	won't be known as man of the century

Llewyn had been off the rig for less than two hours when he learned that the last song he’d recorded with Jim had become a hit.

Frankly, he couldn’t even remember it, not at first. Mitch and Lillian had to play it for him, and then, Jesus Christ, that’s right—the tacky harmonies, the upbeat and vapid vocals, Al Cody doing those bull shit spoken interjections.

“People are saying it’s a wonderful novelty song!” Lillian announced eagerly, with all the joy of someone who’d just recently learned what it meant for a song to be a “novelty.” Anyone else, and Llewyn would have been irritated, but he found her just endearing enough to feign a smile.

Maybe he’d have cared about the song’s success if he’d had a high enough opinion of it to wait a few days for royalties instead of clambering for a $200 check. As it was, it meant nothing. Or rather, it meant only that Jim was getting radio play and making bank.

“I’m surprised Jim never told you,” Mitch said, speaking over the record. And over Lillian, who was preoccupied singing along with Cody’s exclamations of, _outer_ – _space_.

Llewyn thought back to the letters he’d received from Jim in his time away. Each one had ended up in the trash, unopened, until they’d stopped coming.

“Yeah, I’ll have to ask about that when I see him.”

\--

“Oh God, you’re back already?”

“Hello to you too, Jean.” Which Llewyn said with an eyeroll, to prevent him from gaping and saying, _You’re pregnant, Jean_.

She was, her stomach protruding absurdly in front of her. She waddled toward his table, Jim following with his hand inches from her arm as though she might shatter at any moment.

“Looks like I owe you my congratulations, Jim,” Llewyn said, in the hopes that, by filling the silence, it would feel less hurtful that Jean didn’t bother with even a vitriolic response.

(It didn’t.)

“You do, yeah.” Jim pulled Llewyn out of his hair and gave him a hug. “You’ve owed it to me for four months, actually, since that’s when I told you. Do snails deliver letters to the Merchant Marines?”

“Oh, shit, buddy, did you write me?” Llewyn squinted between Jim and Jean as they all sat down. She rolled her eyes to herself, but Jim was watching him earnestly. “Y’know, a lot of the guys in my unit thought that some of our mail was going missing. Must be why I never got the good news.”

Jim looked genuinely alarmed. “Hang on, does that mean you didn’t hear about--”

“‘Please Mr. Kennedy’? No, I hadn’t heard, but Mitch and Lillian told me.”

“But didn’t you wonder where the royalty checks were coming from?”

Llewyn glanced over toward Jean, who was pointedly fussing with her purse. He looked at Jim, who, until this moment, he had assumed knew of his decision to forgo his claim to any additional money. And he realized that there was no way to admit to it without also acknowledging that he had had no faith whatsoever in his friend’s music—because why else wouldn’t he have at least taken a chance and waited a few extra days for things to clear with Mel.

“I, uh, wasn’t getting any. I called Mel and apparently he was holding onto them for me until I came back into town.”

“Oh, sure, sure.” Jim nodded, then cast a glance and a smile at Jean, whose expression was still quite sour. Absent-mindedly, he smoothed his hand over hers.

 _So, is this one Jim’s for sure or did you fuck every disc jockey in the city to get him all that radio play_ , Llewyn didn’t ask.

“And then you have Troy,” Jean mused. Seemingly to Jim, but it felt as though it was particularly for Llewyn’s benefit.

(She’d tell him he was a self-centered ass for assuming as much, and maybe he was, but that didn’t mean he was wrong.)

“Hmm?” Jim replied. A vocal quartet was taking the stage, and his eyes were on them.

“I just mean, you and Troy, coming up in the business at the same time. It looks like his record is shaping out to be a real hit, I’m just proud of him. And of you, of course.”

Jim smiled, and they kissed. It was chaste and affectionate and disgusting.

Llewyn’s return to duty couldn’t come soon enough.


End file.
